


Ashes to Dust

by Vilshanka



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Age Difference, Daddy Kink, F/M, Grinding, M/M, Making Out, Not Beta Read, im sorry for any mistakes english isn't my first language, my first fic so pls dont kill me
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-03
Updated: 2020-09-03
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:47:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26259637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vilshanka/pseuds/Vilshanka
Summary: “Nah, I’m more of a champagne kinda guy myself.” the old man said, and laughed like there was a hidden joke somewhere in there.Damn, what was with this guy? Through the entire night the geezer kept on staring at him, but he showed as much of a reaction as a dead corpse, and when he started ignoring him the guy still approached him and offered to buy him a drink. Shit, he wasn't even trying to play hard to get, and yet it seemed to work.Well... Though the guy probably had three decades on him he was still quite the handsome motherfucker.Shit, he hasn’t gotten laid in ages.
Relationships: Champagne "Champ"/Tequila (Kingsman), Ginger Ale/Jack | Whiskey (background)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3





	Ashes to Dust

**Author's Note:**

> I decided that Tequila's name is Atticus 'cause this other fic used this name too & I liked it. Sadly, I can't remember which one exactly that was, so if anyone knows I'd be grateful if yall told me about it & I'll add it here. The names of the other characters were chosen the way they were simply 'cause I liked them lol
> 
> The Whiskey/Ginger Ale ship was kinda random, but ngl I'm thirsting after Pedro Pascal really hard & Whiskey def deserved better (the movie ending was total bullshit), so he's a good guy lmao

Atticus Jones was a rash young man who joined the circus primarily because he refused to go to college. He always knew that he was never one for pursuing higher education, seeing that even in high school he never showed any significant interest in the school material. 

“Always the brightest, ” his professors would say, “just never the most motivated.” When asked about it, all of them agreed that it was quite the waste of potential. A shame, really.

Since before he could walk his interests were only two things; bullriding and the art of the whip. His relatives could tell dozens of stories about how, at one point, he tried to ride on the back of every large dog that he stumbled across. His interested in whips appeared some time later, when puberty started hitting him and he discovered just how much gals loved a guy that could whip a can off a truck parked several feet away. These skills came useful to him later in life, when his dead-beat dad beat the shit out of him and kicked him out of the house for good. 

“He’s just a boy! He don’t know no better yet!” He remembered his ma screaming while trying to shield her oldest son away from his pa’s drunken rage, and receiving a punch for her effort. 

There were many events that he forgot due to either their insignificance of repression of memories, but the events of what happened that night will always loom somewhere in his head. 

His pa was always quite the tyran; a coal miner in a crumbling business, whose first stop after work was always the local tavern. His ma was a tired housewife who never even finished high school, his pa getting her pregnant when she was fifteen. In light of his mother’s longing to finish at least some degree of higher education he was named Atticus, like that lawyer in To Kill a Mockingbird (which, ironically, only showed her lack of academic knowledge), and in light of his parents living in a highly religious society they still stayed together, despite lacking any semblance of a healthy relationship. Later they also created his younger sister, Angie Jones, whose birth was as unwanted as his was.

In their household, while it was common for his pa to beat his ma and sis like they were worth less than a pile of dog shit, it was more common for him to whoop Atticus’ ass even more so - mostly due to sticking up for them. 

That night was just like any other night. He was doing his homework (or pretending to do) in the living room, his ma was washing up after the dinner, and his sis was showering upstairs. 

He knew that his pa would be home soon, they all did. You could tell by his ma’s swift rinsing of the dishes and her jumpiness at every little sound, and his sis’s quick footsteps from the bathroom to her bedroom once she was done in there. Hell, you could tell by his own shaky hands that were gliding across the paper aimlessly. Many times, he found himself uncounciously counting every ‘dong’ the clock on the wall made.

Once they did hear heavy footsteps approaching they all froze for a moment. When they heard the doorknob jitter they all scattered around the house, trying to hide as best as possible. When the door slammed against the wall and the silhuette of a large man stepped through the door, wobbly and stinking of cheap booze, ma was the only one who was still somewhere in his eyesight. 

“Betty,” he slurred, slamming the door shut, “what’re you still doing up? Weren’t you going to the flea market tomorrow?”

Ma spasmed with a shudder, “I am, Frank.” she forced out, “but it ain’t that late yet.”

“Huh, are ya tryin’a say somethin’, Betty?” pa said, getting right up in her face. She frowned at his bad breath. 

“N-No Frank, it’s just… It’s half past eleven, it ain’t that la-” 

_Smack._

Ma’s head snapped to the side, with pa’s hand still in the air.

Atticus, who’d been slowly creeping up the stairs, heard the sound and rushed back downstairs, just in time to see pa gripping ma’s neck and screaming at her stuff like “You bitch!” and “You and those ugly brats ruined my life!”

Without even so much as thinking about it he forced himself in between them and, acting on instincts, roughly shoved his pa away. “The hell’s wrong with you, old man? It ain’t her fault you’re total trash!” 

In the next second he felt his skull connect to the hard ground as his pa tackled him. They started fumbling on the ground, each trying to overdominate the other, with a few blows flying in between. 

In the end he was still just a teenager fighting with an adult, thus he was the one ending up being pinned to the ground.

His pa started repeatedly punching him in the face, “You think yer a man, huh, boy? You think you can take on yer old man? Well, guess what, brat? Yer old man’s gonna finally shut you up fer good!”

“Stop!” ma screamed, “Stop it! He’s just a boy! He don’t know no better yet!”

Somewhere between getting his face beaten in and struggling with keeping himself conscious, he noticed his sister appeared next to ma. They were now both screaming and trying to get him off.

Such an inciden was nothing of the ordinary, really. But apparently that night his pa had had enough of Atticus’ constant smart mouthing and disrespecting his authority, and physically hauled his ass outta the house. 

“And you better hope I never see yer ugly face again, boy!” His pa shouted while Atticus was trying to raise his face from the dusty ground. 

*

Becoming homeless at nineteen. What a way to go. Looking back at it now he’s kind of surprised it hadn’t happened sooner. 

Being not even a fully legal adult yet and already without a fucking roof over his head, he had no other choice but to try his best to make ends meet. He did shit that he would never allow his kids to do, but honestly who even cares? It’s not like he had a choice. 

From dealing with drugs to downward prostitution, he tried out his hand at any illegal but quick money-making practice, until he somehow found his way into a travelling circus.

Life on the road always seemed appealing to him. 

*

It’s that guy again. He could tell by the heated gaze he felt on his back.

That night, he was the one designated to being the nightly entertainment in their lounge bar. Their surprisingly posh bar was reserved for those that bought after-show tickets, and thus had a chance to meet the performers and people running the place. Mostly proper businessmen and investors mingled around, re-establishing business ties and hounding for new means of obtaining money or fame, but on few occasions there would be some new faces popping up in the crowd, faces of spectators from that day’s show that were enough satisfied with the circus’ rep and performances that they decided to spend a few extra bucks on grabbing the chance to personally see how the circus’ very core is being run. 

When said individuals appear they are most commonly quite surprised at how classy the circus’ ‘after-party’ is, awkwardly looking at the expensive suits and hefty cigars, and feeling quite out of place. Hell, Atticus doesn’t blame them. One wouldn’t explain from some circus that its ‘backstage’ would sport such heavy bucks, but at the same time it’s kind of expected from one of the most polished circuses in the states (plus it ain’t a too big of secret among the performers that there’s some drug exchange and money laundering going on in the background).

Since there’s a smaller stage built in the dimly-lit room there’s always a performer entertaining the guests. Tonight the entertainer was yours truly, and the only thing he was good for was singing some slow jazz songs, but hey, he received numerous compliments on his low and raspy voice, so why not take advantage of that?

Boss liked to assign him to the stage on nights when there was a higher percentage of the female population than male (of those who brought in the cash, of course). Apparently older ladies with money simply love to watch a young piece of meat slowly sway around the mike, and subtly grind his hips into it on certain intervals of the song. 

Tonight, while he was putting up his usual act he had the time to pay more attention to the mingling crowd. He’d been feeling eyes on him the whole damn show (and not in the obvious way an entire audience’s gaze would feel like), so to feel them even now was frankly starting to piss him off. 

His eyes were slowly roaming through the faces of the crowd, trying not to be too obvious about it. While there were many stares fixated on him, only one was from someone he had seen a few times before. “ _Gotcha._ ” He thought to himself as he locked gaze with him, his lips turning upwards just the tiniest bit. 

Lyrics continued to be sung out of his mouth while he was debating on what to make out of the man. 

Atticus noticed him in the crowd a few times in the past few weeks, and the only damn reason he noticed the old fucker in the first place was because it was hard not to noticed someone that always sat in the same seat, and was always looking only at him. 

Well, now he had the chance to observe him in return. The guy was sporting a typical cowboy hat, covering half his face with the damn thing, but some features could still be seen. For one, he certainly looked like he belonged in the crown, dressed in a fine suit and running an expensive cigar under his nose. The second thing he noticed was that, although the geezer was obviously middle aged, he wore his age pretty damn well.

The man noticed him staring, and he only smirked, tipping his hat at him. 

A’ight, two can play at that game.

He continued his performance, only this time he had eyes only for that guy. When he swayed, the guy’s eyes would wander over his body, and when he grinded his hips, the guy would take a sip of his liquor, gently swish it for a sec, and then swallow it. He stroked the mike like he was stroking a lover, and while many old cougars whistled their appreciation, his intended victim showed no other signs of being affected. 

A’ight, fuck that guy.

He ignored him from then on, since there was no fucking point in teasing the guy if he didn’t even show a reaction. 

As the night progressed further his performance was finally coming to an end, thank fucking Christ for that. He sang the last few words, bowed in thanks when the audience started clapping, and sauntered off the stage. 

Headed for the bar, he gently pushed his way through the crowd (awkwardly smiling at each person that patted his back when passing by), and with some effort he finally made it to his destination.

Sighing, he all but fell into the bar stool, already ordering a gin and tonic. The bartender obviously knew who he was, since instead of asking for payment she just put it on the employees’ tab. He recieved his order with a nod in thanks, dragged a hand down his face, and chugged almost the whole glass in one go.

He was just taking a bite out of the lime he fished out of the drink when, from the corner of his eye, he noticed someone sitting down next to him.

“I’ll have what he’s having.” The person says, and when he finally looks at them his suspicions get confirmed that yes, it was that guy from before.

The guy smiled and tipped his hat at him. 

Atticus could only stare at him, completely baffled, before he snorted and shook his head. 

“Howdy,” the guy said, obviously unbothered, “don’t think we’ve properly introduced ourselves yet. Name’s Joe.” 

“Joe as in Joseph?”, Atticus couldn’t help but ask, while shaking the hand that was offered to him.

Joe apparently found his question amusing; “Nah son, Joe as in Jonah.”

Atticus nodded in understanding, turning back to his drink.

Joe recieved his own, but kept on staring at him.

“Well?”

Atticus raised an eyebrow, and turned to Joe again, “Well what?”

“Ain’t you gonna tell me your name, kid?”

“For starters, old man; it ain’t ‘kid’.”

“Well goddamn, son, I ain’t got nothing else to call you!” Joe exclaimed, though he still clearly found their bantering amusing.

Atticus chuckled, swishing the ice around in his glass. “How about buying me a drink first?” 

Joe apparently found that even more amusing, as he openly laughed and patted him on the shoulder, “Don't be greedy now, boy. You still haven't finished this one.”. He took a sip out of his own untouched glass and made a face.

“Damn, tastes like shit.”

“What, you don't fancy the ol’ classics?”

“Nah, I’m more of a champagne kinda guy myself.” Joe said, and laughed like there was a hidden joke somewhere in there.

Damn, what was with this guy? Through the entire night he kept on staring at him, but he showed as much of a reaction as a dead corpse, and when Atticus started ignoring him he still approached him and offered to buy him a drink. Shit, he wasn't even trying to play hard to get, and yet it seemed to work. 

Then again, did it matter that it was working? 

Well... Though the guy probably had three decades on him he was still quite the handsome motherfucker. 

Fuck, he hasn’t gotten laid in ages.

“Well,” he continued where they left off, “if you don’t like it I’ll gladly take it off your hands.”

He grabbed Joe’s glass and brought it to his mouth, deliberately placing his lips over the spot where Joe had his. He slowly drank the whole glass, all the while maintaining eye contact with Joe.

He could see Joe’s eyes trail over his face, and then over his adam’s apple. His gaze was so intense, he could swear he felt it.

Once he was done he put the glass down, and fully faced his companion. He pointedly dragged his gaze over Joe’s face, taking in the lowered eyelids and extended pupils, and slowly, almost unnoticably, leaned his face towards Joe’s. 

“So,” he broke the silence, “I guess I won’t be needing that second drink after all.”

As he watched a grin appear on Joe’s face, he finally asked; “Your place of mine?”

And Joe…

Joe started laughing.

“Sorry buttercup. You may be sweeter than a jar of honey, but that ain't the reason why I’m here.” 

Wait. Was the old creep being serious? Did Atticus seriously just proposition the old man, just to be laughed at afterwards? 

“The hell you’re here for, then?”

Instead of answering, Joe just laughed and patted him on the shoulder.

“That ain’t something you need to worry your pretty little head over. You still haven’t given me your name yet.”

Atticus could only stare ta him. Unbelievable. The guy was just unbelievable.

He lowered his hat over his eyes, and smirked at his companion over the rim; 

“I could tell you my name, but that ain’t something you need to worry your pretty little head over.”

*

Since that night he saw Joe a lot more often - almost as if Joe himself made an effort to attend many more of his shows, and thus afterparties, though how Joe managed to have money for it was beyond him.

What stayed consistent through all of those times is that Joe would always seek him out at the bar, would always order himself what Atticus was drinking, and would always leave it for Atticus to finish. On his own part what was always the same was that Atticus would try to flirt with Joe, and just when Atticus would think he was coming through to the guy, he would get rejected.

It was quite the strange game they were playing. After a night of Atticus’ performance, Joe would look at him with such a heated gaze, it would make Atticus feel almost bashful. And on his part when Atticus would flirt with him, Joe would never reject it. Maybe not reciprocate it, but never reject it.

On one of these nights, Atticus decided to finally vocalise this strange attraction they had between them.

“Hey, uh, listen Joe.”

Joe looked at him.

“I’ve wanted to discuss somethin’ with you for a while, and since we're both adults I’m just gonna come and say it; what's the relationship you wanna have with me?”

“Well,” Joe tipped his hat back, “what makes you think I wanna have a relationship with you, kid?”

“Considering you spend a fine amount of cash for these performance, I’d say you have me quite fooled then.”

Joe threw his head back and laughed. “Shit, son. There's no getting out of this one, is it?”

He scratched his nose, and continued; “Aight, boy, here's the deal; I tell you my reasons for always eyeing you up, and you finally tell me your goddamn name.”

At this point Atticus realized that for the past few weeks, him and Joe were steadily hanging out without Joe even knowing his name.  
He could tell the old man his name, but at the same time that felt like he was revealing the final ace up his sleeve. 

“Damn, old man, what's with you and wantin’ to know my name? I could let you in on it, but that wouldn't be fun, now would it?”

He smiled the most charming and boyish smile he could muster, and stole Joe’s drink before the guy could even offer it.

It was obvious that Joe found the display endearing, since instead of making an effort to stop him, he only laughed.

“Well, I don't know why you're asking about our relationship then, since I don't even get to know your actual name. In my head, I can only call you by your stage one.”

“Now Joe, wouldn't having a pretty boy as your arm candy be even more interesting if he'd only be known as ‘Whiplash’? Goes pretty well with my stage act, doesn't it?”

“What? S’that about the fact that your trademarked acts are the ones with a good ol’ traditional whip? Though I gotta admit, you're pretty damn good at it - still I’d never imagine one could make a living of it.”

“Well, what can I say? If you're good at it, why do it for free?”

Atticus pushed Joe's now-empty glass back to its original owner, and turned sideways to fully face him.

“Where were we about our relationship? 'Cuz I remember we didn't breach any new revelations in this topic.”

Joe mirrored his moves, and they were now sitting face-to-face.

“Aight, look. What I have in mind each time I seek you out has to do with a little bit of all these topics.”

Joe looked him dead in the eyes, and continued, “Your name’s Atticus Jones. Your only relatives are your parents and your sister. You’re originally from Arizona, from some ass-backwards insignificant town, but you travelled half the country to be a performer for one of the most established circuses in these parts of the world - since, goddamn, you're good at what you do. You’ve only finished high school, but you have such a big brain up there that colleges would probably fight for it. Your birthdate is-”

“How the fuck do you know all of this?!” 

What the fuck?! Who the hell’s this guy, this Joe, to know all of this about him?!

Surprise and disgust could probably be seen on his face from a mile away, but frankly he was too shocked to actually give a damn. All he could do was to stare at Joe, and try to figure out just who the hell this guy was.

For his part, Joe only shrugged with one shoulder, completely unbothered, and continued; “I could tell you that, but I don't know how much you’ll believe me if I told you that my guys and I have been watching you for quite a while now.”

Now Atticus was really starting to freak out. Why the hell would some people be watching him? Sure, he’d done some illegal stuff he’s not proud of, but he’s never had goons sent after him for it.

“Look, I don't know who sent you, but I’m just a nobody who tries to live from day to day. I ain't worth your effort.”

Atticus was preparing himself for a quick getaway, but Joe only sighed and patted him on the cheek, making him flinch.

“That's where you're wrong, buttercup. You're somebody, enough of a somebody to catch our attention.”

Joe leaned in closer to him, and Atticus had to force himself to not lean back.

“Tell me, boy. You ever heard of Statesman?”

*

After that one night, Atticus’ life was taken on a wild ride, turned completely upside down and had no way of going back. 

He was thrown head-first into Statesman, has met all the agents, and has had his life almost taken away way too often.

When Joe showed him everything for the first time, he couldn’t help but laugh at what his life has become. 

The first shock was seeing all the gadgets Statesman owned. While he stared in awe at all the planes and the weapons, Joe laughed and patted him on the shoulder. “Yeah,” he said, “I had the same look on my face when I saw it all for the first time.” 

The second shock was being given a new name. He sat down at the main table in Joe’s office, put on the glasses, was surprised at seeing holograms of all the people sitting behind the seemingly-empty chairs, heard Joe ask “All for Atticus Jones becoming agent Tequila?”, heard them all agree, and that was that. From that moment on he was agent Tequila, and that’s all there was to it.

The same day he was introduced to the other two agents on-base. Agent Ginger Ale had the sweetest smile, and the warmest hand, while agent Whiskey was a stone-cold motherfucker. He shook Atticus’ hand only because Joe warned him to, and muttered something about “already regretting working with Champ’s boy toy” while walking out of the room. Since that day he really liked Ginger, and really disliked Whiskey.

The third shock was Joe pulling him aside and telling him, “Listen, we’re colleagues now, but that also means that I’m your mentor, so you gotta stop calling me Joe. To you I’m agent Champagne now”, and Atticus couldn’t believe how surprisingly hurt he was over it. Something probably showed on his face, because Joe sighed and patted him on the shoulder (something that was growing to be quite common between them, it seemed). “Hey, don’t worry now,” he said, “you can still call me Champ.” and somehow that didn’t make it hurt any less. 

He’s had many other shocks after that one, but somehow the third one hurt the most. He had no idea why, but he felt like he shared some significant bond (or some other sappy shit) with Joe. Ever since he got introduced to Statesman Joe's been acting like a proper mentor with him, so it's probably Atticus’ own fault he saw more than that in their interactions.

But damn, Joe's smile can really boost a guy's hopes and dreams. 

It's totally stupid, yeah. Stupid and irresponsible. Being interested in a guy 30 years your senior, and your mentor on top of that, really wasn't the brightest idea. But hey, in his defense he had no idea at what point all of that mushy shit even reared its head out. Was it when their interactions became a permanent thing? Was it even before, when Joe was still ordering himself drinks he didn't like simply because he knew Atticus was gonna finish them? 

Fuck.

What the hell was he thinking?

Pa would beat the ever-loving shit outta him if he knew.

Whiskey was making sarcastic comments on the seeming tension between his boss and his protégé at any given moment, saying shit that hinted at Atticus being Joe's sugar baby, or twink, or eye candy, or any other nonsense bullshit, but damn if it didn't make Atticus reflect back on their relationship melancholically, almost wishing there was at least some truth to the asshole’s jabs.

Truth to be told, Joe seemed to back almost completely off once their relationship became professional. He wasn't exactly throwing a guy a bone to begin with, but now it was as if he set a metaphorical border between what he deemed appropriate for their interactions, and what not. And damn was that border sealed shut. Couldn't even give Atticus a break, for fuck’s sake.

Whenever he tried to soften the edges, to slowly invite Joe into more personal relations again, he was strictly (but still kindly, damn him) rejected. And goddamn, did Atticus try to invite. He batted his eyelashes at the guy, he softened his smile as much as possible, he fixed his pants so that his ass could look better in them, and yet…

Fuck.

He was such a desperate motherfucker.

And it didn't help that Joe was always perfectly put together, with that expensive suit, wearing that rich cologne, leaving his morning stubble unkept in just the right way, so it still looked handsome. Southern fifty year old gold diggers would most likely dig their claws into that handsome piece of cowboy meat as soon as the chance arose, so it was probably, and sadly, safe to assume that a thirty year old loose canon such as himself had little to no chance with said piece of meat. But goddamn, he could still try, aight?!

*

Ginger Ale was a godsent. 

If there was ever anyone worthy of everything nice in this world, it was Ginger Ale.

They always shared nice chats whenever they bumped into eachother, but they really became friends after she had to do a psych eval on him (for the sake of the organisation, and all that).

“Okay, so here's how this is gonna go,” she said, having him seated in the chair in front of her, “I’m gonna ask you a few general questions, and based on how you answer them I’ll start asking more specific ones.”

“Aight, don’t sound too bad.”

“Great! My primary priority is you being comfortable with sharing personal information with me. My goal here is to learn as much as possible about the entirety of your mental processes, such as your cognitive abilities, visual processing, problem solving skills, yadda yadda yadda.” she finished, making him smile.

“Before we start; do you have any questions of your own?”

“Yeah, actually. Now don’t get me wrong, I don’t mind doing this at all, but why’s it necessary?”

“Well, based on your answers I’ll manage to kind of pin together all of your mental quirks and traits, with which I, and thus Statesman in general, will be able to plan, monitor, overview, protect, and watch over your activity as a fellow agent here at Statesman.”

Thus they had their conversation, Ginger casually asking and Atticus casually answering. Before they knew it, quite some time has passed, and they sometimes drifted from the strict topics to more personal ones. At some point Ginger even pulled two beer bottles, and Atticus opened them right on the counter.

“I don’t usually do this,” Ginger said, laughing a bit, “but I’m really having fun talking to you.”

Atticus clinked their bottles together. “As long as you don’t forget why we’re forced to do this, Ging’.”

Ginger swatted her hand, “Oh please. I didn't become an agent with just my good looks.” she joked, though a bit too sarcastically for comfort.

Atticus couldn't help but comment on it, “Hey, don’t beat yourself up. You’ve got the looks and the brains - you’re the whole package, Ging’.”

She laughed awkwardly in response. After that they fell into a comfortable silence.

Atticus just started peeling the sticker off his glass, when it was broken by Ginger, “Hey, listen. I know that what I’m about to say is not professional, but I feel like we’ve crossed that line a while ago-” 

“Pssh, yeah we have.”

“- so I’m gonna go ahead and say it anyway…” she trailed off, looking at him as if she was searching his face for something.

“... I know your real name, Atticus. Well, okay, I know the real names and identities of all the agents, since it’s kind of my job - being the organisation's main technician, and all that - and it’s not like knowing your coworkers outside of the job is illegal or anything, so really-”

“Uhh, Ging’? You’re kinda rambling there.”

“Right, sorry. What I’m trying to say is that if I know your real name, I think you could know my real name too.”

She lifted her hand, offering it for him to shake, “Hello, my name's Alicia.”

Honestly, Atticus didn’t know how to react for a second, but then he just smiled and took her hand in his, “Well hey there, Alicia. The name’s Atticus.”

They shook on it, and from that moment on they were officially best buds.

*

Since they were best buds, they could also share all the gossip and drama that was happening in Statesman.

Having the main technician as your buddy was surprisingly turning out to be the best thing ever.

Whenever something juicy happened on one of his missions he would seek her out (“You’ll never believe what agent Vodka did in Toronto,”), and whenever she caught something promiscuous on her feed she would wait for their weekly lunch date (“Guess who forgot to turn off their glasses while in bed with their mistress? Yep, agent Gin,”), and they would trade all of their weekly gossip.

Sometimes the conversation turned to their fellow on-base agents, and they let out all of their steam to eachother concerning the other two.

“I don’t know what the hell Whiskey's problem is, but if he doesn't greet me in the hallway one more time I’ll start calling him out on it. And if I start calling him out on it I’ll also start bitching at him more than a bratty teen on her period.” 

That made Alicia snort around her sandwich, “Yeah, Whiskey can be a real dick, though I wouldn’t lose sleep over it if I were you. He can be an asshole, but it’s mostly just an act.”

Hm?

That’s the first time Atticus was hearing something like that.

“Oh?” he started, raising his eyebrows and leaning closer to her, “And how would you know that, fellow colleague?”

Obviously said fellow colleague knew more about that than him, judging by the fact that she froze up and suddenly seemed far too interested in the sandwich wrapper, picking at it with her fingers.

Atticus leaned in even closer, gently placing his fingers on her fidgeting hand. He looked intensely at her, but honestly the whole situation still had too much of a humorous feel to it to be taken seriously.

He stared at her for a while, his face turning more and more into a pout, and he knew he had her the moment her face cracked into an involuntary smile.

“Alright already!” she pushed his face away with the other hand, “Get that pout away from me, you know it’s a force to be reckoned with.”

They fell back into silence, but this one was shortly broken by Alicia. 

“Okay, I’ll tell you what my experiences with Whiskey's 'softer’ side were.” She said, using her fingers to make quotation signs accordingly, before continuing on.

“Often times after I finish up a mission with an agent in a different timezone than I, and that would most likely often be late at night, I’d go to the kitchen for something to drink and, surprise surprise, I’d find Whiskey already sitting there.”

“Hmmm, that’s weird. Ain’t he got his own residence?”

“I know, right?! So anyway, I never really drilled into him about it, letting him decide for himself if he wanted to say anything or not, but after a while we really did start talking. At first it was obvious he was always tense and reserved, but then it seemed like he let loose some of that stiffness he always carries around.”

“No shit? What, did the royal stick-up-the-ass manage to obtain some trust or somethin’? I mean, god forbid one trusts their co-workers, right?”

“Well, yeah. I mean…” she trailed off, seeming like she was thinking about the next words she was gonna say, before continuing, “I get that this job requires a certain level of trust in your only technician, aka. me, but it was still nice that he deemed me worthy of his trust even off the field, you know?”

Atticus just sighed in reply, leaning back into his chair. Shit, he didn’t even know what to say to that, since to him Whiskey always seemed like he’d rather eat nails than to give you his time of day. 

“So what, y’all all buddy buddy now? What d’yall talk about anyway?”

Now it was Alicia’s turn to sigh, “Well, you know, about work and whatnot. But here and there he’d show me his softer side, like by admitting why he often stays so long on-base even after his work hours and, like, other stuff.”

Honestly, Atticus didn’t really feel the need to know Whiskey’s reasons for doing whatever the hell he did (it was easier to hate the guy if he didn’t), so he didn’t ask Alicia to elaborate, and Alicia didn’t offer an elaboration on her own, so they left it at that.

“Would you consider y’all to be friends now, or what? 'Cus I remember that he’s still against you becoming a field agent, for whatever fucking reason.” 

That made her stop. He could see conflict on her face, though really he couldn’t understand why. Obviously she wanted to have some kinda personal relationship with the guy, but who the hell would wanna be friends with Whiskey?!

“Well… Yeah. I mean, obviously it’s a douchebaggy move, but… Let’s just say that he finally gave me some clarification on that.”

“Oh?”, that’s interesting, “You comfortable sharing it with me?”

She started fidgeting with her hands, avoiding eye contact. “It’s, uh, he said that it had to do with his trigger.”

Oh.

Oh, wow.

“That’s… That’s surprising. Personally I don't know what you being a field agent has anything to do with his trigger, but I won’t drill you anymore. I get how it’s like with triggers, and a guy - no matter how annoying - deserves some privacy, so… Yeah.”

He started eating his own sandwich, thinking the topic was dropped, but Alicia still looked uncertain. Damn, they must really be friends these days for her to consider having a heart-to-heart with Atticus about the guy.

“Look,” she started, apparently deciding on continuing the conversation, “it’s actually kind of stupid, his reason. His trigger is, uhh, it’s his deceased lover.”

Whoa. “Wow, alright. That's more than I’ve known about the guy since, like, ever. Still don’t know how you fit in, though.”

“Yeah, well his lover died in some altercation or something. I’m not gonna get too into it, but what I’m trying to say is that I already knew about that.”

“Well, yeah. You know triggers from all of us, it’s kinda your job.”

“Yeah yeah,” she waved her hand, trying to move on, “but the point is that he said to me that, and I quote, 'he’s always against me going on the field because he doesn't want to see another woman close to him going down in a fight, when she deserved much more than that’.”

Silence followed that revelation, with Atticus trying to take that bit of information in, and Alicia giving him time to do just that. 

Frankly, to find out a guy like Whiskey actually had feelings was a surprise in itself, but to also find out he had (some kind of) feeling for Alicia was monumental. Like damn, could’ve fooled him.

Atticus glanced at her, and she glanced back. Finally he decided to break the silence. “Ain’t that kinda sexist?”

It seemed that she was expecting such a question, grimacing almost instantly, so Atticus continued, “Don’t get me wrong, it’s extremely sweet 'n all, and I had no idea Whiskey was capable of emotions other than anger and disappointment, but it ain’t his decision to make whether you wanna risk yer life or not.”

“Yeah,” she let out a sigh, “I completely agree. As much as I feel like we’ve grown a bit closer with him actually telling me that, I still think Jack and I should talk about it.”

His ears perked up at that. “Jack? Who’s Jack?”

It seemed that she didn't even realize she made that slip-up, 'cause she turned beet red in a second. 

Of course it wasn’t hard to put two and two together, and it was a perfect opportunity to tease her about it.

“Ohh, so it’s Jack, huh? When’d he stop being Whiskey?”

She obviously didn’t appreciate his teasing, but that was absolutely not a surprise.

“C’mon, you’re already in half-way, might as well tell me his full name.”

Obviously she refused, so he only prompted her further.

“Alicia Brooks; I, Atticus Jones, formally ask you to finally fully introduce my co-worker to me, since the dick never properly introduced himself in the first place.”

At least he could always depend on his wittiness and shit-eating grin to get him out of an awkward situation, 'cause finally Alicia smiled, apparently already over her accidental slip-up.

He started wiggling his eyebrows when she finally kicked him in the shin, and said 'alright alright’.

“I’ll tell you, but you must absolutely promise me that you won’t laugh.”

In reply he crossed his heart with his fingers.

“Alright, his full name is… I can’t believe I’m telling you this, but his full name is Jack Daniels.” 

He hadn’t laughed that hard in a while.

*

God, he really should just shoot himself in the head or something, because the torch he was carrying for his boss was so big, its flames will swallow him up any day now.

Joe apparently officially picked up the habit of acting like a proper mentor to him, like setting his shit straight and whatnot. 

Was Atticus slouching in his chair? Joe would swiftly slap his back or shoulders, promoting him to quickly straighten up. 

Was Atticus sitting with his feet propped up on a desk? Joe would shove them off when passing by.

Was Atticus arguing with Sir Bad-Attitude again? Joe would interrupt them to demand for them to act like adults, but would give only Atticus a disappointed stare.

He never really mentioned anything to Alicia, but she wasn't dumb, she could see something was going on. She never said anything, but would always give them space when they interacted with eachother. 

Fuck! All of it was such bullshit! 

Sure, Joe's demand for a strictly professional relationship was understandable, but why the fuck would he still occasionally seek him out for a late-night heart-to-heart, or smile at him softly, or treat him to dinner sometimes, or any other similar situation if he wanted only that? 

“You still here?”

Speaking off…

Atticus glanced back at Joe, hyperaware of Joe’s hand leaning on the back of his chair.

“Uhh…”, he rubbed his eyes, “Yeah, I was just going through the files of my last mission,” he said, slapping his hand on said stack of files.

Joe’s hand drifted from the chair to his shoulder, “Burnin’ some midnight oil, eh? Well, I don’t wanna interrupt, just came to ask if you wanna go grab somethin’ to eat with me.”

Joe’s hand started rubbing the shoulder, “But I see you’re still busy, so I’ll just leave ya to it.”

The hand switched to massaging, and who’s Atticus to say no to that?

Just as Joe was retracting his hand, Atticus grabbed his wrist to stop him.

“Nah, 's okay. I’m just about done anyway.” 

“You sure?”

“Yep, couldn’t be more positive.”

And that’s how they ended up at the nearest 24 hour diner, eating the greasiest burgers and drinking the bitterest coffee.

Their conversation topics didn’t vary much, just shit about the day’s events, and whatever else. 

Honestly, Atticus couldn’t care less that they didn’t have any deep, Oprah-meaningful topics, really he was just fucking grateful to hang out with Joe outside of the workplace. 

That’s, like, the only time the old geezer relaxed, dropping the forced formalities and treating Atticus like a proper equal.

They were both munching on their burgers when Joe randomly started chuckling. Looking up, Atticus was startled to find a hand in his face. He flinched away and almost dropping his burger.

“Whoa there, cowboy!”

Ah. It was Joe’s hand. 

The hand in his face was Joe's.

“You have some ketchup on the side of your mouth, son. I just wanted to get it for you.” Joe explained, though his hand hasn't retracted, only lowered onto the table.

He glanced at Joe, then at the hand, and then back at Joe. 

An opportunity for more intimate physical contact between them appeared, and he single-handedly chased it away? Great.

Not one to let golden opportunities slip outta his hands, he replied; “Uhh… Well, if there’s still ketchup on my face I wouldn’t mind, uhh…” he glanced back at the hand, “I wouldn’t mind you getting it for me.”

Apparently that’s exactly what Joe’s been waiting for, 'cuz he raised his hand again, slower this time, cupped the side of his face, pressed his thumb against his cheek, and (dear god, this was seriously happening) slowly wiped it from his cheek to his mouth.

The entire situation was completely bizzare. Seriously, was he in the Twilight zone or some shit?!

Joe was watching him with hooded eyes, clearly waiting for a reaction, and leaving his thumb pressed against his mouth.

Holy shit, was Atticus hallucinating? Did the waiter put something in his burger? Is he gonna die? 

All of it was insane, there’s no way any of it was actually happening.

His thoughts going a million miles per second, he went with his instincts, and partially opened his mouth to gently close it around Joe’s thumb.

Maintaining eye-contact, he swiped the ketchup off with his tongue, just gentle, tiny licks, and the lust in Joe’s eyes almost made him combust.

The thumb pressed against his tongue, a gentle pressure that went straight to his cock, and was slowly extracted out.

Barely believing that that just happened, Atticus glanced at Joe through his eyelashes, leaving his lips in the pout that was plumped out with the finger’s extraction.

Oh god.

That’s more action that transpired between them than it has in years.

It was Atticus’ turn to stare when Joe brought the thumb to his own lips, and swiped it with his own tongue.

“Y’know,” Joe broke the silence, “I really did just wanna wipe the ketchup off, but you always were a goddamn cock-tease.”

Shit, they were finally progressing somewhere, after all these (albeit only three) years. 

Finally.

Smiling slightly, he leaned closer to Joe, and whispered; “Wanna do somethin’ 'bout it, cowboy?” 

Amazingly, they were out of the diner in minutes. 

Next thing he knew, he was pressed against the door of his house, grabbing at whatever piece of clothing he could feel, and trying to suffocate on Joe’s mouth.

As much as all of this was (amazing, mind-blowing, epiphanic) great, he just wouldn’t be Atticus if he didn’t open his big fat mouth; 

“Mmm, not that I don’t like this - I totally do - but what brought this on after three years of nothing?” 

He could feel Joe’s smile against his mouth, his hands (so, so strong) trailing from his sides to his ass.

“Well, y’gotta admit it’s been a long time comin’. Truth is I’ve wanted you since the first time I saw you, and now that you’ve matured into such a fine fella -”, he grabbed Atticus’ ass, hard, “- it’s gettin’ really hard to keep myself in check.”

Hearing that was the perfect balm for his bruised ego and self-confidence, both of which admittedly suffered next to Joe’s indifference. So to hear that he was wanted just as much? Damn, did Christmas come early?

Then again, Joe could’ve told him he only decided to throw him a bone after three years because he couldn’t stand Atticus’ drooling anymore, and Atticus would’ve taken it as practically a marriage proposal.

The hand on his ass started kneading, bringing their hips together, and all Atticus could do was to let out a throaty moan, getting a growl in reply.

Joe may have started with the ass-grabbing, but it was Atticus who trailed his hands around the other’s neck and deepened the kiss. They shoved their tongues together like a couple of teenagers, the grinding not helping one bit, but damn if that wasn’t the most sensual experience of Atticus’ life.

Whatever doubts he had about doing this with Joe were completed wiped out, and all he wanted was to resolve years if sexual tension in one goddamn night. Hell, if the night continued to go on this nicely, Atticus’ll make sure that it gets stretched out into the next day, their jobs be damned.

They fumbled with the door, neither wanting to break the make out session, and after almost breaking down the door handle at least four times, the stupid thing finally opened.

Oh man, this is it.

Three years building up to this moment.

Atticus was practically manhandled inside (god, will that ever stop being hot as fuck), and he held onto Joe like his life depended on it. 

Just as he started kissing Joe’s throat, Joe froze. 

" _If he thinks he’s gonna back out now he’s got another thing coming_ ", with that thought Atticus started sucking a hickey into his throat, grinding his hips into the other man’s.

“Mmm, c’mon daddy-”

“Atticus, what the fuck is this?!”

**Author's Note:**

> Things getting hot and heavy in a a diner? Wow, so romantic 
> 
> I'd be really grateful for any kudos, tips, or comments you guys have on my work! I always love improving my work & hearing your thoughts on it
> 
> I'm not planning on writing a second chapter, but I'll probably do it if yall show interest in it 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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